Chapter 32
It was customary for a criminal’s body to be burned to ash.
If anyone wished to bury such a corpse, they needed permission from the king or their liege lord.
The grave that Mark had found belonged to one such person.
“Father said he wouldn’t allow your body to be brought back to the estate.”
Even in death, she was hated.
Mark sneered at the grave’s owner. There was no trace of affection in his eyes.
“I didn’t want to, but… I suppose I owe you at least this much.”
His mother had once been beautiful.
A commoner, but lovely enough to catch his father’s eye. Yet, her endless greed and vulgarity quickly made him lose interest.
There was no way he could ever love a child whose very bloodline he doubted.
“I won’t be lucky enough to survive the subjugation anyway.”
Mark had spent his life shut away in a room, studying magic —
but not anything practical, like Fireball or other combat spells.
He had only studied harmless, useless things, afraid that even a hint of ambition might displease his father.
In other words, he had no idea how to fight.
The reason he’d been dragged into the campaign at all was because of the king’s decree:
“Only those who fulfill their noble duty by joining the subjugation shall inherit their family’s title and property.”
Some families welcomed this chance to show off their prowess,
but others — seeing it as a trap to use their heirs as hostages — resisted fiercely.
So King Glock made an example of his own blood.
He appointed his only son, Prince Dran, as the commander-in-chief of the expedition, declaring,
“If I must send an heir first, then so be it.”
The protesting nobles could hardly refuse after that.
Still, the discontent lingered.
To pacify them, the king added a clause:
“If the heir dies during the campaign, his deputy shall inherit in recognition of his family’s service.”
If they didn’t want to risk their precious heirs, they could send the unwanted ones.
Mark was exactly that kind of son.
“At first, I thought I’d somehow survive and take back the family estate for myself.”
But his father wasn’t a fool.
“I’m leaving for Madni in two days with the first subjugation force.”
The public only knew of Prince Dran’s third expedition.
Few even realized there had been a first and a second before it.
Mark knew, thanks to his “kind” half-brother.
The first wave is just bait. The king’s way of killing off the unwanted heirs.
There wouldn’t even be a proper commander.
Eight-year-old Scopoli had laughed as he said it — and he was right.
When Mark arrived at the gathering, the so-called soldiers looked like they’d never even held a sword before.
Don’t come back alive. You’d better die out there.
Mark could practically see his father and brother praying for his death from the comfort of their estate.
The thought disgusted him.
“How does it feel, ruining your son’s life along with your own?”
He demanded, but of course, there was no answer.
Maybe that was for the best — his spiteful mother would’ve only spat cruel words anyway.
Mark took a handful of flower seeds he’d bought on the way and scattered them over her grave.
There was an old superstition in Almeria:
If flowers bloom over a grave, it means the soul reached the afterlife safely.
“I hope no flowers bloom on yours.”
If that was how he felt, he could’ve just not planted them.
But guilt — faint, lingering — made his hand move anyway.
Then suddenly, he froze.
Someone was watching him.
A woman was lying among the graves, staring straight at him.
Mark jumped, startled.
She was strange — but undeniably beautiful.
He approached, offered her the rest of the seeds, and asked her name.
He wanted the last face he remembered before dying to be anyone other than his family.
“I’m Baberi Ranks. Successor of the Ballista line.”
Then, to his surprise, the woman told him she’d save him.
How could a traitor of House Ranks be wandering around unguarded like this?
Her clothes were far finer than his — suspiciously so.
Mark didn’t believe her.
He thought she was just some spoiled noble’s daughter playing games.
“I’ll save you, but in return, keep me company. I’m sick of talking to the royal guards.”
She complained that every time she spoke to them, they kept throwing around words like “His Majesty” and “loyalty.”
“What’s so great about some balding middle-aged man anyway?”
Mark’s jaw dropped.
He’d already realized she had a sharp tongue — but insulting the king? That was on another level.
He’d never met anyone who could outdo his mother in foul-mouthed boldness.
Was this woman truly a Ranks?
And what did she mean by “save”? How?
Mark wanted to ask, but she just grumbled under her breath.
“My old man’s the same. They’re all idiots, every one of them.”
Then she threw the rest of the seeds over a grave, turned her back, and left him there alone.
The next day, Mark was summoned by Sir Tobias, captain of the royal guard, and informed he’d been reassigned — to the third subjugation force.
If his father and brother found out, they’d lose their minds.
To think he’d survive a little longer thanks to a traitor.
Mark realized then — life truly had no rules.
“Hey, Mark.”
From that day on, Baberi treated him like a friend, despite their obvious difference in status.
“Baberi! How many times have I told you not to show me things like this?”
Mark hissed under his breath, terrified someone might overhear.
“These are confidential documents! Only those attending the subjugation council are allowed to see them!”
He didn’t have clearance.
If anyone found out, he’d be executed.
He’d warned her many times — but Baberi only shrugged.
“Not my fault the ‘noble’ folks don’t want to sit in meetings with a convicted traitor.”
Still, as the campaign’s key strategist, she needed the information.
The problem was… she couldn’t read a word of it.
“That’s why I said I’d teach you how to read.”
Mark tried to reason with her, but she pouted and shook her head.
“Who’s got time for that? I’m busy. Just tell me if there’s anything in there about the dragon.”
She shoved the pile of papers in his face. Mark shut his eyes tight.
“Please, Baberi. You promised last time this would be the last!”
He clasped his hands together in desperation. She lowered the papers and smiled faintly.
“Who else would I ask but you, my friend?”
In truth, Mark didn’t see her as a friend — she was too dangerous, too unpredictable.
But everyone else already assumed they were friends, so there was no point denying it.
“This is really the last time.”
He sighed and began scanning the reports.
“It looks like the Kingdom of Annapol won’t send troops. They’re claiming Madni is Tyris territory, so it’s none of their business — ridiculous.”
After all, dragons had wings.
They could cross the continent in a single day if they wished.
Being an island nation offered no safety.
“The Kingdom of Lancaster’s objecting too — they don’t like that Prince Dran’s the supreme commander of the allied forces.”
“I don’t like it either,” Baberi grumbled, lips jutting out.
“That delusional prince actually thinks I’m helping for his sake.”
Why would she?
Mark held his tongue and kept reading.
“They say Princess Sissel, Lancaster’s heir, is joining the campaign as well.”
“So that’s why they’re upset — they want her to be the commander?”
Before Mark could respond, Baberi scoffed.
“I’ve never seen her, but I’d bet the king’s remaining hair she’s just as much an idiot as our dear prince.”
“Baberi, please!”
If anyone overheard… they’d both be dead.
He’d barely managed to stay alive this long — and she was making that very difficult.
“To be honest, I wasn’t surprised when I heard about her rebellion.”
Mark’s voice was calm as he answered Medo’s question.
“I spent the entire campaign closest to her. It was only a matter of time.”
She’d never hidden her contempt.
There’d been no trace of remorse, no effort to clear her family’s name.
If anything, she flaunted her defiance.
“She was the type to say, ‘Try killing me if you can.’”
If she had ever shown genuine loyalty to the king, that would’ve surprised him.
“And when she finally rose up, well… no one could’ve stopped her. Certainly not me.”
He gave a small, bitter laugh.
“Ever since she saved my life, I’ve just accepted that being dragged along by her was my fate.”
So little could shock him anymore.
And yet—
“Still, I was… hurt she didn’t call for me. I thought I’d be the first one she’d seek out…”
Mark trailed off.
His tone was even, but Medo caught the faint spark of jealousy in his eyes —
a skill he’d honed back when he had to read Vaslui’s moods for survival.
“In any case, we’re comrades now. Let’s get along.”
Mark smiled faintly and held out his hand.
“Likewise, Lord Scavi,” Medo replied, returning the smile.
“Just call me Mark. The title won’t mean much longer anyway — it was granted by Glock, and I doubt I’ll keep it.”
Kurr knocked on the head maid’s door.
Sharon, her belly round after three months of pregnancy, greeted him warmly.
She didn’t seem surprised by his unannounced visit.
“I only have apple pie. Will that do?”
Kurr nodded and took a seat at the long table — one that had once sat in her now-closed shop.
As soon as she set the pie down and sat opposite him, Kurr spoke.
“I don’t like that man.”
He didn’t even need to say who.
Sharon knew exactly whom he meant.
“You really dislike Mark that much?”
Kurr’s hand froze midair, his expression souring.
Even the sound of that name made his blood boil.
“His Majesty keeps giving him more and more work.”
It had all started when Mark successfully opened trade routes with Babana.
Baberi, impressed with his competence, had entrusted him with ledgers, magical research — even control over the magic stones.
Without enough stones, Kurr couldn’t transform into a dragon.
Only a handful of people knew that secret — Sharon and Medo among them.
That much, he could tolerate; they never abused the knowledge or stepped out of line.
But Mark… Mark was different.
